Not Leaving
by Olive-Pizza
Summary: Dean is infected with the demonic virus, Croatoan. Sam refuses to leave him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoy, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think! (As long as it doesn't make me want to sit in a puddle of my own tears).**

**I do not own Supernatural. But man. Do I wish. **

Sam Winchester grounded his clenched fists into the metal door. He released a shaky sigh as he forced his muscles to loosen and let his left hand fall to his side before twisting the lock with trembling fingers.

_Not again, _Sam thought dismally, pressing his forehead into the cool surface. _And God, not like this. _

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and slowly pulled away from the door. Sam jerked his head quickly, trying to shake out the muddled and frantic thoughts that prevented him from focusing. Dean needed him to focus.

But Sam was exhausted. Sweaty, dark hair and dirt stuck to his face. His shoulder throbbed maddeningly-clawed up by impossibly strong fingers digging their nails into his flesh. And he couldn't get the coppery odor of blood out of his nose. Sam shut his eyes against the bright fluorescent bulb buzzing right above his head. His head lolled to the side as he staggered towards the concrete wall. What he needed more than anything was to rest.

But Dean needed him more.

And that was enough to flash hazel eyes open and move long legs deeper into the supply closet of the realtor agency. Aisles of cleaning supplies and boxes of surplus pens, printer paper and ink cartridges lined his path to the back corner. He swallowed thickly when he saw his brother pressed against a shelf, head hung.

Sam hesitated, shifting slightly. Aside from the ripped, blood speckled shirt and the wide but shallow cut on his arm, Dean was fine-externally.

"Hey," Sam barely, mustered, finally finding the strength to sit down beside his older brother.

"Door's locked?" Dean asked, not bothering to glance up.

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding, "No one's getting in."

Dean quirked a morbid smile at the shared knowledge of unspoken words: _No one's getting out. _

They sat in silence; Dean looking down into his clasped hands, and Sam looking at him. They listened to the buzzing of the lights and the groaning of the ventilation system until finally Sam couldn't take it any longer, shattering the silence.

"I called Bobby," he explained, pulling his knees up to his chest. "We'll figure this-"

"You should go, Sam," Dean interrupted quietly, briefly glancing up at him.

Sam licked his chapped lips, ignoring him, "Bobby thinks he's on to something. Jo and Ellen are looking for the materials and they'll-"

"Sam!" Dean bellowed, now glaring at his brother with cold, green eyes. "Leave me. _Now_."

Sam's stomach twisted tightly, head pulsing with the terror trying to break free. No. This shouldn't be happening. Not like this. Not with Dean. Not again. This was freaking _deja-vous. _And of the worst unimaginable kind. Because the two brothers had dealt with a similar situation years ago, at a medical facility, in River Grove, Oregon.

Except this time, it wasn't Sam begging for Dean to leave. It was Dean.

This time, Dean was the one with the curdling fear of transforming into a homicidal psychopath.

This time, it was Dean.

And Dean wasn't immune.

_Croatoan. _

"No," Sam shook his head jerkily, feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes, "I'm not leaving you. You didn't leave me."

"This is damn right different, and you know it, Sam," Dean responded gruffly, his jaw tensing.

"You're right," Sam agreed firmly, feebly clinging to the remains of his strength. He had to stay strong for Dean. He had to; it was his job now. "It is different. You don't have to worry about infecting me, Dean-I'm immune!"

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand though his hair, "_Sam_."

Sam looked him in the eye with determinedly, "_Dean_."

Dean met his gaze hard and held it for a long moment before glancing down, shaking his head incredulously. He smiled sadly, "You're a stubborn little bitch."

Sam's lip quirked upwards, "Yeah, well, I learned from the best." He bumped shoulders with his older brother jokingly.

The smile on Dean's face slid away, and Sam's heart seized in his chest. If Dean began to loose hope so fast, Sam didn't know what they were going to do. "Besides," he nudged Dean gently in the ribs, "We have a few hours before..."

"I take a stroll down crazy lane?" Dean suggested half-heartedly, rubbing his eyes.

Sam pressed his lips together, "Yeah. But we're going to find something before the virus kicks in-"

"And if you don't?" Dean asked, turning his head to the side to face his brother, eyebrows raised.

Sam pushed his head into the shelf, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He opened his eyes slowly and looked his brother in the eye. Quietly but firmly, he answered, "I'm not leaving you, Dean."

Dean's face instantly flushed red,"Damn it, Sam!" he forcefully kicked his boot into the opposing shelf, shaking a few boxes onto the cement floor.

Sam waited patiently, watching his brother slowly regain his temper. Sam struggled to keep a blank expression, knowing that right now, his brother didn't need to be worrying about how scared Sam was about failing his brother. Of loosing Dean forever.

Grabbing his face with trembling hands, Dean stifled a dry sob. "I don't want to hurt you, Sammy," he finally choked out. He still wouldn't uncover his face.

"You won't," Sam promised calmly, "We'll take care of each other. Like we always do, right?"

"Yeah," Dean replied softly, and he eventually rubbed his fingers down his face, revealing his moist eyes.

Because Dean didn't know if that would be the case in a few hours. And that terrified him.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: What's up! Wow! Thanks so much for following, reviewing and favoriting! And for simply, reading. It means so much! **

**Warning: You might be wondering if this will transform into a deathfic...as of now, it could go either way. I still have plans for a few more chapters before anything happens. Who knows...I might be persuaded one way or another... ;) So, if the possibility of it turning into a deathfic bothers you, I apologize. :( **

**FYI: I guess this takes place after the Croatoan episode, but not after season 5, if that helps. :) **

**Please review for my muse(I get extra points for rhyming, right?)! **

They thought it was a routine hunt. Well, not exactly routine, but something they could certainly handle. They had gotten wind of some murders seemingly without a motive in the suburb of Pataskala, Ohio. Dean and Sam had thought that the casualties were due to a few demonic possessions, maybe a shapeshifter. And if they did need a little help, Jo and Ellen were working a case just a few hours away.

Sam and Dean didn't think anything could go wrong-at least nothing they couldn't handle. But they didn't expect these murders to be committed by rabid humans; they didn't expect to be dealing with an outbreak of Croatoan.

That was years ago. And the illness had vanished as fast as it had appeared. They had expected they wouldn't be dealing with it any longer.

But when they had followed a suspected demon to a warehouse, they weren't expecting an ambush from a handful of infected humans.

_A woman launched down from the rafters, tackling Sam into the dusty floor. He gasped in surprise when his chin hit the concrete, crunching his teeth together. That's when he started hearing the gunfire and the ferocious shrieking. _

_Sam blinked quickly, immediately focusing, and struggled to twist out from under the woman's weight. White, hot pain blazed through his shoulder when the woman on top of him screeched in protest, fingers ripping into his flesh. _

_Sam grunted and jerked to the side, finally pushing her off. Before the woman could even get to her feet, he put a bullet in her chest. _

_"Damn it!" _

_Sam flinched against the obvious fear and irritation in his brother's voice and whipped around to see Dean cornered to a wall, fiddling with the barrel of his gun. Because Sam and Dean did not expect to use bullets, but to simply trap and exorcise a few demons, maybe stab them with Ruby's knife if they were out of options. And if the murderer was a shapeshifter, then they only needed a couple of silver bullets. They had left their usual Taurus and Colt behind in the Impala. And Dean was clearly out of his silver bullets. _

_"Dean!" Sam cried, panic seizing his heart, and he sprinted towards his powerless brother. _

_The infected beings drew closer to his older brother, and Dean finally dropped his gun, and lashed out, punching an old man squarely in the jaw before kicking at a teenager. As Sam ran towards them, he questioned whether or he should start taking fire, but the demonic humans were so close to his brother, and if Sam missed, if..._

_His stomach twisted when they finally pinned Dean to the wall, and the old man was pulling out a knife and-_

_"No!" Sam yelled, and he knew he didn't have any other options. He lifted his gun and pulled the trigger, shooting the old man in the back of the head, sending him to the ground. But another just took his place, and then some of the infected were running towards Sam with hunger in their eyes, and when Sam finally cleared the path to his big brother, it was too late. _

_Sam saw the blood on Dean's arm, and the remaining, infected humans were pulling away. _

_God. No. _

_Sam killed the rest with trembling fingers, his mind numb, before moving towards his seemingly paralyzed brother. With a disgusted glance and a kick from his foot, Sam pushed away the corpse lying between him and his brother. _

_"Dean..." Sam whispered, watching his brother nervously, fighting the urge to run and scream and kill the bastard that ever released the virus into this town. _

_Dean blinked at him, frowning slightly as he stepped away from the wall, glancing down at his bloodied arm. _

_Sam felt the bile crawling up his throat when he saw his brother tense, and met his gaze, eyes dazed, "Sammy, they..."_

_"I know," Sam nodded, feeling the prickle of tears. He knew what happened when a person was infected. Hell, they had just shot what happened when a person was infected. And Dean knew it too. _

_"Shit, Sam..." his brother shook his head, incredulously, continuing to look at his arm. _

_"Hey. We're going to figure this out. I'll call Bobby. There's gotta be something, Dean," Sam reassured, hating the way his voice cracked with reluctant doubt. _

_"I..." Dean exhaled raggedly, stepping over a body and closer to Sam. "I don't think so, Sam..."_

_"You don't know that, Dean," Sam persisted, fighting the desire to just pull his brother into a tight embrace. He hated how his tough, strong brother was shaking with numb confusion and disbelief. He hated how the raw emotion of fear was so evident in Dean's face. He hated that Dean felt so vulnerable. _

_"You're..." Dean looked up at him, after glancing at the gun in Sam's hand, "You have to kill me, Sam."_

_Sam shook his head, chest straining. He regretted the way his breath caught in his throat, "No. I'm not. I'm not leaving you, Dean. We're going to fix this. I promise."_

I promise_, Sam thought earnestly to himself. _

_Dean looked doubtful, but eventually nodded tersely, returning his gaze to his arm. _

_"Come on. Let's get out of here," Sam said, nudging Dean gently._

_They carefully stepped around the bodies of once humans, avoiding the pooling blood. Silence rang in the warehouse. Silence rang in the Impala. Silence rang in realtor agency. After situating Dean in the supply closet, the first thing Sam did was call Bobby. _

_Because Sam wasn't leaving Dean. _

Sam sighed, closing his eyes. This was so hard, staying strong. How Dean managed doing it for him, all these years, Sam would never know. He forced himself to open his eyes, and pulled down the box of snacks which stocked the vending machines, from the top shelf. Sam winced from the pressure on his injured shoulder before rummaging through the box, pulling out couple of granola bars and a bag of chips.

He walked back to Dean who was sitting with his eyes closed, hands twisting into the fabric of his jacket.

"Hey," Sam said, hiding the frown that was willing to appear.

Dean opened his eyes, and Sam lifted up the granola bars, "Food. You want one?"

Dean scoffed incredulously, "Do _I_ look like a hippy?"

Sam rolled his eyes before tossing his brother the bag of chips, "One day, the cholesterol is going to catch up to you," Sam chided teasingly before sitting down and ripped open the wrapper of one of the granola bars.

"Yeah, and one day, maybe I'll care," Dean replied gruffly, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

Sam shook his head, smiling, and bit down into the crunchy oats of his own snack.

"I don't suppose you found any beer," Dean said jokingly, but Sam knew he was being completely serious. Sam could use a few beers himself.

"Found a couple of canned root beers," Sam mentioned, feigning naivety.

"Well that's just...awesome," Dean responded sarcastically, repositioning his back against the shelf. "I feel like I'm stuck in a freaking preschool."

"Preschool?" Sam lifted his eyebrows amusedly, "What kind of preschool are you talking about?"

"John Winchester's," Dean smiled proudly, crumpling the plastic wrapper into a misshapen ball. "Nothing beats playtime like ganking a bunch of monsters."

"Uh-huh..." Sam sounded. Sometimes, Sam wished he had grown up normally, but in the end, Sam had to agree with his big brother.

Sam felt his heart warm when his brother cocked his head at him, eyes bright with that giddiness Sam wouldn't admit he loved, "You're just jealous Dad taught me-"

Sam's phone buzzed, and he couldn't help but grimace when he saw the vitality disappear from Dean's face. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone, pressing it against his ear.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam sighed, eyeing Dean carefully. He wanted to have this conversation in privacy, but knew what Dean needed most now was honesty and knowing his brother was with him.

_"How's he holdin' up?" _Bobby's voice came through gravely.

"He's...dealing," Sam said, glancing down to his lap. "How's things on your end?"

_"Well,_" Bobby began, _"I'm still lookin', and to be frank, I'm not sure I didn't send Jo and Ellen on a wild goose chase, Sam." _

Sam bit his lip, stopping himself from cursing. Yeah, although Sam was reluctant in retreating into the aisles of shelves, he couldn't have this conversation in front of Dean. Sam slid the phone to his chest and looked at his brother, "I'm going to go get something else to eat. Do you want anything?"

Dean blinked at him, smart enough to know what Sam was doing but too tired to protest. Sam frowned apologetically before rising to his feet and walked down one of the aisles. When he was sure Dean wouldn't be able to hear, he stopped and returned the phone to his ear.

_"Sam? You still there, boy?_"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, clenching his jaw. "I just had to get..."

"_Sam,_" Bobby interrupted, "_You can't be hiding this from him. He deserves better." _

A wave of shame washed over Sam, but he couldn't focus on that right now, "Damn it, Bobby!" he whispered harshly, "I can't. Not when he already thinks it's hopeless. I can't keep pretending that everything's fine-I _can't. _But-"

"_It sure as hell ain't fine, but it's not fair to either of you to keep playing doll-house. Dean's sick, sick real bad. And it's time to face the facts._"

Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose, "I can't talk about this now. Do we have any other leads besides what Ellen and Jo are looking into?"

"_Sam." _

Sam ignored him, "Any leads?"

Bobby sighed, "_Stubborn idjit," _before continuing, _"It's hard to go about. As far as I know, it first popped up with you two in River Grove. Naturally speaking, ya can't "cure" a virus. Either your body overcomes it, like with a cold, or you die." _

"And supernaturally speaking?" Sam prompted, beginning to pace the few feet between shelves.

"_Well, that's just it. I don't know. There's only a few supernatural illnesses us hunters have come across. But I'm guessin' a virus is as same as any in those terms."_

"But maybe Croatoan isn't actually a virus," Sam suggested, chewing the inside of his cheek anxiously. "We just assumed it couldn't be cured, but...but maybe it can."

"_I'm not gonna stop looking, Sam. I love that boy as much as anyone," _Bobby explained, but Sam couldn't help but disagree. Bobby couldn't possible love Dean more than Sam did, _"But what are you going to do when he starts trying to kill you?"_

_"_I'm not leaving him, Bobby," Sam retorted adamantly, before quietly adding, "I'll figure something out."

Bobby sighed tiredly, "_Alright. I'll call you back if I or the girls find anything. You take care of your brother."_

"I will," Sam replied, blinking.

"_I know you will. I'm not sure you'll remember yourself though."_

Sam bit back saying he was fine, and instead responded, "Thanks, Bobby." Before ending the call and sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Sam rubbed a hand down his face, and stumbled back to the snack box, and absently pulled out something and returned to his brother, forcing a smile.

"Indecisive much?" Dean asked with bitter innocence.

"What?" Sam asked dazedly, easing his way back to the floor.

"Dude," Dean pressed, nudging him, "You took like ten minutes picking out whatever..." he saw what Sam was holding and incredulously asked, "Is that a Twinkie?"

Sam blinked, looking down at what he held, and his fingers pressed tenderly into the spongey cake, "Yeah, I guess so." He shrugged.

"Sam, you hate those."

"No, I don't."

"You call them lard cakes."

"So?"

"Dad used to force you to eat them as punishment for being a bitch."

"_Dean_," Sam complained, exasperated.

"Why did you get a Twinkie?" Dean persisted with a crooked smile.

"I wasn't looking," Sam replied honestly, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Ohhh."

Sam groaned when he saw Dean's expression. He knew why Sam had so abruptly left, and it wasn't because of a snack. But Dean was playing oblivious to his advantage.

"You weren't looking?" Dean lifted an eyebrow, "But Sam, you were picking out a snack for ten minutes. Of course you were looking."

"_Dean_."

"No, you picked the Twinkie because you wanted it. Go on and eat that thing."

Sam made a face, "Dean, please."

Dean stared at him patiently, waiting.

Sam sighed, "You're a jerk." He pulled open the plastic wrapper and gripped the cake uneasily. Sam glanced pleadingly at his brother, but Dean simply smiled.

Reluctantly, Sam pushed the Twinkie into his mouth and started chewing, wincing as he did.

"Yeah, you suck that creamy filling, Sammy," Dean chuckled.

"Screw you, Dean," Sam muttered, gagging against the greasy cake.

"You know, Sam, one day, the cholesterol will catch up to you."

"Real freaking mature," Sam growled, throwing the rest of the Twinkie across the room, but his growing smile finally broke free.

He just hoped it could last.

**To be continued! **

**Thanks for stopping by! **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey! We meet again. Thank you so much for reviewing, following and favoriting. I feel so loved! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

Sam crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl. Because whether Dean Winchester had Croatoan or not, he wasn't going to let Sam revoke his position of being a big brother.

"Sam, let me see that shoulder," Dean persisted, clearly irritated now. He shifted forward, and before he could snatch a grip on Sam's shirt, his brother had scooted back.

"It's fine," Sam repeated, shrinking in on himself when Dean made another grab at him.

Dean groaned, looking up to the ceiling as if he were begging some higher being to explain to him why his little brother was so damn stubborn.

"Dean, really," Sam assured with a slight smile, "It's just a scratch." As if to prove it to his brother, he reached for the wound, but immediately realized his plan backfired, when his fingers returned bloody.

Dean glared at him. "I can tell," he observed sarcastically.

"You know I've had worse," Sam muttered, sluggishly wiping the sticky red onto his jeans.

"Yeah, you have. But we're just sitting here, Sammy. I've got nothing better to do than take care of you," Dean replied with a crooked grin.

But Sam ignored his brother's mocking tone and instead clung to the words. His stomach fell, and he swallowed hard. "Let me take care of you, Dean," he quietly demanded, lowering his gaze to his propped up knee. The fate of Dean's life and soul weighed heavily on Sam's shoulders, and he knew he was loosing the fight. It was just so _freaking _hard to hope for a miracle, when all they had ever received were curses.

Sam heard his brother rise to his feet and walk away from him. Sam clenched his eyes shut, the disappointment in himself painting his cheeks a fervid red. Sam had the key of the supply closet in his pocket, so he knew Dean couldn't be going anywhere, but he was still getting away from Sam, and God, that stung.

His feeble strength was just about to crumble when he felt the presence of Dean crouch beside him. Heated breath tickled his arm, and Sam opened his eyes to Dean opening a first-aid kit. Dean looked up at him, pulling out a pair of scissors from the box.

The blades of the scissors approached Sam's injured shoulder but abruptly stopped in hesitation. Dean's face appeared in the line of his vision and with raised eyebrows asked, "You're not going to make me sedate you, are ya?"

Sam blinked repeatedly, shaking his head.

"Good," Dean nodded approvingly, before pulling away from his brother's face to begin clipping away the remains of Sam's tattered shirt sleeve.

"W-where did you get that?" Sam stuttered dazedly.

"The kit? In the _supply closet_. Dumb Ass," Dean rolled his eyes, wondering since when did being bitchy cause loss of brain cells?

"Oh."

Dean didn't like how flat Sam's voice was. He frowned, snipping away the final piece of soiled fabric and letting it fall to the floor. "Where'd you think I was going? Thailand?"

Dean squinted into the wound on his brother's shoulder, gingerly running his fingers across the jagged gashes. With wet, dry, and clotting blood, the wound definitely looked worse than it actually was. Dean sighed gratefully, shutting his eyes. Sam was mostly okay. So Sam could defend himself when-his eyes shot open as he struggled to shake away the haunting thoughts and focus on his task at hand: taking care of his little brother.

"Sam?" Dean tapped his shoulder, causing Sam to flinch from the moderate ache. "Sam," Dean repeated, "Look at me."

Sam reluctantly obeyed, and Dean's heart twisted when he saw the silvery haze of growing tears. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. But ignoring the problem wasn't going to solve anything, not _now. _And not anymore. "Where did you think I was going?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his lip pulling to the side, "It doesn't matter," he answered quietly.

"_Sammy," _Dean chided with a slight whine in his voice, "Tell big brother what's wrong."

Sam looked away from him, and Dean bit his lip. He knew Sam would talk it out eventually. Because that's just what Sam _did. _And as much as it bugged the crap out of Dean, he was happy that at least one them was honest about their emotions. And it sure as hell wasn't Dean.

"I don't think you'll need stitches," Dean informed his brother flatly, "But I'll have to clean it out."

Dean watched his brother's grief-contorted face until he finally nodded. Dean return the jerk of his head and pulled out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and retrieved the pack of gauze.

Carefully, he spilled a generous amount of alcohol onto a gauze pad, nearly soaking it completely. Efficiently, he wiped away the smeared gore on his brother's shoulder, earning him a soft hiss of discomfort. Dean dropped the soiled gauze piece, and grabbed a clean one, repeating his methodical technique. Pour. Soak. Wipe. Drop. Pour. Soak. Wi-

"I'm sorry."

Yes, big brother's gambling skills were absolutely epic.

"Why?" Dean asked, feigning absence as he continued to wipe at the injury. The flesh was becoming more visible, an angry, inflamed pink with noticeable puncture wounds.

"Because I'm trying," Sam breathed, "But I can't seem to-I don't know how to make you-"

"Jesus, Sam, I'm not a teenage girl," Dean complained, grabbing the remaining piece of gauze. This would have to do for now. "I'm not gonna get all hormonal homicidal on you if you say something. I know what happened. And I know what's going to happen."

Sam urgently turned into him, gripping his brother's wrist hard, "I'm not leaving you," he whispered. "Never again."

Dean smiled weakly at his brother and slowly pulled his wrist away and unwrapped the large bandage. "Here we go," he said while he pressed the bandage into the wound and smoothed out the edges into the surrounding skin.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam's eyes squinted from the applied pressure.

"Last chance for me to kiss it."

"_Dean_."

"Suit yourself," Dean shrugged, tossing the remains of the supplies back into the aid kit.

"Thanks," one side of Sam's lip lifted upward once Dean had pushed the closed box away.

Dean nodded, finding his way back onto the floor with a huff of breath. It was getting uncomfortable sitting on the ground. Next time they had to lock themselves into a room, it would definitely not be Sam picking the place. Yeah, absolutely not. That is, if there was a next time. His stomach clenched at the unwelcome fear because God, this sucked. He didn't think he could keep the brave front up for much longer, especially not when the virus started taking over. But Dean would endure, for as long as humanly possible-if not longer-because Dean knew this was eating away at Sam just as much as it was at him.

"How are you feeling?" The quiet voice stole Dean from his murky thoughts, pulling him back to the _now_.

"Like I want to eat you," Dean replied evenly, barely mustering to hide the bittersweet smile.

His little brother's eyes met his with such a fierce annoyance, Dean wasn't sure whether he should laugh or run. "I'm serious, Dean."

Dean's face tensed with a twinge of pain, seeing a brief flicker of hope in Sam's eyes. This kid was an idiot. The most heartbreaking, best, little idiot he could ever have. "I'm okay, Sammy," he said with a forced smile, "I'm okay."

Sam pressed his lips into a firm line, but nodded, scooting closer to his brother and becoming incredibly small as he shrunk in on himself. "How's your arm?"

"Not too bad," Dean replied honestly, barely noticing the mild ache pulsing below his elbow. "It's stopped bleeding."

"Good."

"Do you want to tell me what Bobby said?" Dean asked, staring into the denim of his jeans, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam flinch. Dean knew his brother didn't want to talk about this, not now. But Dean knew, with whatever happened later on, it would haunt Sam if he never spoke up. It always did.

"I...he said he's looking," Sam responded reluctantly, hunching his shoulders. "Ellen and Jo, too."

_Looking._

Dean understood what that meant: no sign of light at the end of the tunnel, but would trudge on ahead anyway just in case. He had expected whatever Bobby had said on the phone to Sam was bad news-why else would his brother eat a freaking Twinkie-but hearing it out loud felt so much more..._real_ and _decimating _to his already feeble hope. "So there's a scavenger hunt now. Awesome."

_"_They're going to find something, Dean," Sam assured, resting an unsure hand on his older brother's knee.

Dean shrugged helplessly. This was so _wrong_. So incredibly, disgustingly, unforgivably _wrong. _Because whatever sick ass hole was allowing this to happen, demon or something else entirely, they were messing with Sammy. How many times had this kid so naively hoped for something only to have it yanked away? Too many damn times, Dean thought bitterly.

"And if they don't..." Sam trailed, glancing towards the exit before returning his burning gaze to his brother, "I will."

Dean raised an eyebrow at that, "And how's that, Sherlock?"

Sam shook his head jerkily, the cords in his think neck visible. "I don't know. But I will. We're not giving up on you. _Please _don't give up either."

"Sam-I'm not-"

"Because I'm not leaving you, Dean. No matter what. So return the favor, and don't leave us."

Dean stared at his brother for a long time, and finally he exhaled deeply, because how could he possibly argue with this kid? He was a baby brother armed with a near degree in pre-law from Stanford- it didn't get much tougher than that.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied, rubbing a hand over his eyes in tired resignation, "Okay."

**To be continued...**

**Merci beaucoup! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Hey everybody! **

**First off, I'd like to apologize for the late update, but I'm totally overwhelmed with college stuff, but finally, here it is! **

**Also, Season 9...oh my gosh, Dean's secret from Sam. Absolutely ridiculously crazy. I was screaming a lot, and running around and freaking out my fellow fans. **

**About two or three more chapters...I donno. You tell me what you think! **

**Anyway, thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. You guys are the best! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.**

Sam barely ducked out of the way before his brother's fist collided with a package of printing paper instead of his jaw.

Sam flinched against the growl of frustration before gulping up thick air, and scampered down the thin aisles of supplies, and almost tumbling when his ankle rocked against the smooth tile.

He pressed against the back corner of the room, near the door, mind buzzing with racing thoughts. His heart thrummed against his chest, and forced himself into calmness, shutting his eyes, but never ignoring the faint _thump _ of reckless boots.

It had only happened a moment ago. Dean was fine one moment, chuckling at the annoyed expression on his brother's face as he told another sex joke that lacked any amount of intelligence. And then, just like that, Dean had snapped. His laugh dying in his throat, and eyes growing cold. The rage was spurred on by God knows what. Sam knew it was Croatoan, but Hell. Dean's action seemed partly fueled by something else entirely.

His eyes glanced towards the door, and his stomach clenched with guilt at the involuntary instinct to flee. But Sam wasn't leaving Dean. Not ever. And if Sam lost his life because of it(which he was feebly hoping against) then at least Dean would never doubt that Sam would ever leave him.

These morbid thoughts distracted him enough to not even struggle away when two quivering hands clenched at his shirt collar, and he was soon face-to-face with bright murderous eyes.

Sam swallowed thickly, his Adam's Apple, a bobbing bulge within his lean neck. "Dean..." he tried, but before he could say another word, his brother's hand jumped to his throat, silencing him for the moment.

"You think we can just pretend?" Dean barked out, cocking his head to the side, eyes glinting fiercely. "You think we can just sit here, in some janitor's closet, eating stale potato chips and freaking pretend like everything's okay?"

"De-" Dean's hand tightened around his throat, tinting his vision red.

"Because it sure as Hell is _not _okay." Dean's eyes suddenly softened, and he blinked, eyes unnaturally wet, and he turned away from Sam, chuckling out a mirthless sound that sent shivers running down his spine even though his chest and head were flaring with need of breath.

Because Dean sounded utterly lost. More than that, actually. He sounded like he had given up hope _years _ ago, and he could barely remember the memory of once having it at all.

"Look at me, Sammy," he said quietly, finally meeting Sam's blurred gaze. "I'm killing you. I'm killing my baby brother."

"You won't," Sam barely manages to whisper around the vice of his brother's grip.

As if to only prove him wrong, Dean's hand instantly tightened, forcing Sam to gasp upwards, trying to pull in air. Sam's trembling hands fumbled against the fabric of his brother's shirt, hoping that somehow his touch would pull Dean back from the infectious craze because...this wasn't him.

Because Sam would do whatever it took to make sure his brother stayed _Dean_. Because right now, Dean didn't have the strength to have hope, and Dean would never forgive himself if he hurt Sam, and Sam had no intentions of dying. He wasn't leaving Dean.

His weak fingers knotted into the thick fabric, and his eyes streamed with tears as his face flared hot and throbbed in time with his pounding heart.

Dean took a step closer, jaw clenched and eyes staring up at him. He slid his hand upwards towards Sam's jawline and held, making Sam lift his gaze away from him.

"You don't think I will?" Dean questioned softly.

Sam swallowed hard, "You don't want to."

Dean cocked his head, but Sam, even with hazy vision, could see the heated ferocity in his brother's eyes falter. And that's when Sam realized the missing piece to Dean snapping into a rage-filled determination. If Sam's eyes weren't slightly bulging out of their sockets, they would be rolling. _Classic Dean. _

_"_I know what you're doing," Sam managed between a ragged gasp, taking advantage of the sudden tremble of his brother's fingers, "But I'm not leaving."

Dean's eyes widened, and he jerkily lowered his hand from his brother's inflamed throat.

Sam's stumbled forward, barely catching himself against the shelf as Dean turned away, running a still shaky hand through his short hair. He reflexively wrapped a protective and gentle hand around his throat, gulping in thick air.

" A Stanford education doesn't mean shit anymore, does it?" Dean muttered sarcastically, not daring to look his little brother in the face. Especially not when Sam,and definitely not him, was acting like a total girl.

Dean flinched when he heard his brother speak his name with his trademark God damn _knowing _tone. And could barely control his frustrations with himself. Because, damn it all, he couldn't get his stubborn shit of a brother the hell away from him. He didn't want Sam to see what was inevitably coming. He didn't want Sam to see him fail by turning into one of the sons of bitches they hunted, and dammit, he definitely didn't want Sam to have to kill him.

Dammit. Dammit. _Damn it. _

His kid brother was royally pissing him off.

"Can't you just fucking leave, Sam?!" he bellowed hoarsely, finally grasping the remains of his strength to face his brother.

Sam shook his head weakly, still soundlessly gulping in breath and thin frame slightly trembling.

"I told you, Dean," Sam finally, whispers, swallowing against his swelling throat, "I'm not-"

"Yeah, well, that sure as hell didn't happen before," Dean retorted coldly, earning him nauseating sensation of satisfying guilt once his brother visibly flinched.

Sam clumsily gripped onto the shelf, needing all the support he could get, inanimate or not. Because could Dean possibly know what he felt? Hazy memories of dark skies, cold mud and ripping pain instantly followed, adamantly denying the previous thought. _Of course_ Dean did. Not once, when Sam's fate was uncertain, did Dean leave him. And Sam wasn't leaving Dean. Because this was freaking different from Stanford. Sam never thought of leaving the hunter life as leaving his brother, but maybe that's exactly what Dean had thought, no, Sam was now damn well sure that's exactly what his brother thought.

But this was different.

So Sam, knowing full well Dean was intentionally trying to hurt him, to shake up his emotions and crumble his resolve, skipped right over that highway to nowhere. "Remember when we were so _sure_ that I was infected? And no matter what everyone else said you-"

"No," Dean interrupted roughly, shaking his head in ragged jerks. "This is not the same and you fucking know that, Sam."

"Why?" Sam persisted rebelliously, resentful fire in his words, "Is it because I'm the little _baby _brother who-"

"Because you're immune, Sam!" Dean roared, causing Sam to immediately freeze into place. Dean looked maddening, tenuous muscles coiling under angled jawline, fervent eyes glinting and skin flushed with anger.

Sam inwardly chided himself, glancing to his feet. Because although he knew Dean would never hurt him(well, _enough_), Sam couldn't vouch the same for the demonic virus within. Gentler, Sam protests, "But you didn't know that at the time."

A mirthless and crooked grin break through the tense muscles of Dean's face and he lets out a forced laugh, "What? Do you think _I _have demon blood in me too, Sammy?"

Sam let out a huff of exasperation, because Dean always had to find a way to circumvent the pure intentions of anything Sam said. "We didn't know that at the time either, Dean," he muttered irritatedly.

When Sam glanced up, after only hearing the response of silence, Dean's lips were pressed into a firm line, obviously not knowing(or wanting) to come up with a response for that. And although his unnaturally stiff body told otherwise, Sam could see it in his brother's eyes: Dean was faltering in his resolve.

Sam couldn't help but release the twitch of a premature smile, "Look," he quickly began before his brother could call upon the smart ass deity of thick-headed comebacks. "Back in Oregon, I definitely didn't want your..._support_, but it really did make a difference to me, Dean. Knowing that you were with me, had my back, whether I was a monster or not."

Sam swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, particularly moved by the last of his words which rang true in light of the novelty of current challenges. And compared to now, how the hell were those days considered _normal? _How the hell did he and Dean even manage to _stay _with each other?

In truth, Sam didn't know.

It was just something that brothers did.

And nothing else to it.

Sam shrugged uneasily when he finally noticed he was under Dean's blank stare, he unable to discern the unreadable expression upon his stony face.

But Sam looked him in the eye anyway and slowly took a couple of steps forward. "Let me do the same for you."

They stared at each other for a long time. Sam's apprehension growing with every sudden flash of emotion on Dean's face: anger, resignation, guilt, understanding, sadness and fear.

And when Dean lowered himself to the ground with a tired sigh of defeat, Sam blinked back in disbelief. Because when did Dean _ever_ let Sam win _anything_?

Dean flicked his eyes up at his stupefied brother and smirked weakly, "Well, you just gonna stand there or become useful and get me some chips?"

Sam shook his head, clearing his eyes, because Dean...Dean was Dean again or as much as he could be right then. And that's all that mattered to Sam right then, too. "You've already had three bags," Sam informed blankly, and Dean rolled his eyes, but soon after smiled.

"Dude, I could eat _Lays _for days," Dean slowly reclined himself against the wall, resting his hands on the back of his head.

"_Lays _for Days?" Sam quirked an eyebrow, "How poetic of you."

Dean glared up at his brother jokingly, "Eh, that's more your department, Princess. I like to keep the PMSing bitch-fits to a steady minimum."

Now it was Sam's turn to roll his eyes, as long arms reach over to an opposing shelf and retrieve before ejecting a small pack of potato chips in Dean's general direction.

His older brother gave Sam a disapproving look when bag landed at his feet instead of, well-

"My hands, dumbass," Dean groaned as he snatched up the bag and ripped open the frail plastic.

Sam lowered himself beside his brother with a pinched smirk, "I had to make sure you worked off at least _some _of the calories."

Dean stuffed his mouth full of chips and chews thoughtfully before murmuring, "Sam, how many times do I have to tell you-you're a shitty comedian."

And Sam exchanged his response for a tight smile, secretly relishing in Dean's enjoyment of literally stuffing his face with salty, fried slices of potato.

Unsurprisingly, Dean crushed the empty bag in his fist thirty seconds later, his face soon then after, falling into a slightly more thoughtful expression as he stared into the crumpled yellow ball laying on his palm.

"Do you think this will end up like _I Am Legend_?" Dean asked almost sheepishly, turning his focus to his brother, "You know, like, Will Smith having to kill his infected dog?"

Sam's a bit startled by the comparison, recognizing the outline of this plot point from a year or so ago, in a rickety motel room, in a rain storm, with satellite TV losing its connection every thirty minutes and Dean yelling at the screen each time yelling 'This is the best part, dammit!' His stomach clenches tightly, remembering, for that scene was the one Sam couldn't help but fixate the most on, and it pained him to know that Dean thought his situation was just as hopeless as theirs, and there was no way avoiding it: one of them, Will Smith or the dog, wasn't going to make it out alive. And they were each other's everything.

Sam blinked back quickly, his mind floundering in the too painful similarities, and he feebly searches for anything-anything at all, that can prove his brother wrong, that no-these situations are definitely _not _the same, and neither of them are going to end up dead.

"You're not a dog, Dean," Sam whispered stupidly, and he hopelessly fell into the abyss of shame and failure, realizing the very poor analysis and conceptualization.

Dean stared at him like a father humoring his naive child, and nonetheless, was damn straight proud. His green eyes crinkled in sadness and in smile, and he nodded his support of his brother's disagreement.

"You're right, Sammy," Dean bobbed his head, "'Cause you're the bitch."

"_Dean_."

**To be continued! Thanks for stopping by! **


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